


A Study In Iago

by SheepyWrites



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: All The Ships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Yeah more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:28:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheepyWrites/pseuds/SheepyWrites
Summary: A collection of drabbles focusing on ships with Iago of Fire Emblem: Fates.





	1. things you said at 1 am. (Zola/Iago)

things you said at 1 am.

"Are you quite done yet?"

Zola jumps as he hears the voice in his ear, hands bumping into vials and bottles that hold perhaps something volatile. Sharp nails comb through his hair, against his scalp, and a head settles against his neck for a moment before he settles, heart still racing in his chest.

"Iago! Y-You can't do that! What if this went off?!"

Almost lazily, he reaches forward, bringing the vial of green bubbling liquid up to his nose, before setting it back down rather hard. He just loved to freak him out, didn't he, as he jumped, half expecting something to blow up in his face.

"Wrong ingredients," the other mage says in his ear, a hint of amusement on his tongue as he pinches Zola's cheek, earning a squeak of embarrassment. "You used newt eye, not the tail."

His heart, although now relaxed that it was potentially explosive, almost sinks. Messing up these sorts of things were normal by now, and he'd wanted to perfect this, make it so wonderful that even King Garon would be impressed with him. But it just ended up like all the others, and he flopped forward onto the table with a sigh.

"I would be better suited as a jester than a mage," he mutters, face hidden in his arms as Iago starts to play with his hair, fingers playing at the curls.

"Well, you certainly have the hair for it."

The quip earns him a sad look, eyes big and hurt-looking, and with a sigh Iago moves away, beginning to pick up the messy vials of failed potions. Zola watches with half interest as thin hands wipe away splotches of green and purple, bubbling angrily for mere moments before disappearing, and it isn't long before everything looks as it did before his whirlwind of disaster came through.

"Come now. You can't sit there all night and mope, Zola. It's already past midnight."  
"I will mope. I will mope until the end of the world, when the Dusk Dragon comes and damns me to hell."

He's only half serious, not budging even when his arm is pulled, and he thinks he can hear a quiet laugh from the other man next to him.

"I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one," And he finally gets an arm loose, tugging him away from the table and up onto his feet, even if he still looks like a dejected child. But hands cup his face, which he leans into like a touch-starved cat, and he's gently tugged forward away from the table.

It isn't long before he's nestled into heavy blankets, not even bothering with removing clothes. That could come when he woke up, Iago had said even as he plucked the hat off his head, and given how easily his eyes began to droop, he was quite alright with that.

So he nestled into the blankets, almost disappearing with his size, and he's content, if still a little disappointed in his pitiful potion making skills. But it all fades away easily, comfortably with the hands that trace over him, legs tangling with his own, and the mess of black hair that tickled his face.

He would deal with things come sunrise, he said. And sunrise was a far time away.


	2. things you said through your teeth. (Iago/Yukimura)

things you said through your teeth.

It's much too loud. Too many people sit among the tables that have been set up in the dining hall, and for a moment he finds himself wishing he were back in Nohr.

Nohr, despite all the hell that had happened there.

He still isn't entirely comfortable in Hoshido, and he doesn't expect to ever be truly comfortable again anywhere he goes. This is a temporary spot, he tells himself. One day he will leave, displace himself from the royals and those who scrutinize him with harsh glares. They don't know what he's been through. Had they been in his place, they would have done the same.

Perhaps he would go to Cyrkensia. No one would notice him, slipping away into the alleys from the shining lights and filthy nobles. Take up the sword, even? No, no. That was too far.

"What do you think of this development, Iago?"

Red eyes snap up to meet Xander's stern gaze, and for once, his throat dries and tightens, unable to think of something to say. Everyone stares, everyone can see that he doesn't know what in seven hells they were speaking of, and suddenly everything feels like its closing in on him.

Before his panic can develop further, a hand slips onto his beneath the table, and a warm murmur of a voice fills the silence.

However he ended up with a man like Yukimura, he doesn't know. Why exactly had they been drawn to each other? It had to be fated, he said. But fate was a lie, Iago had shot back, something to give those in fear something to cling to. Yet soon, he found himself doubting his own words.

The conversation goes on as before, light rabble around the table. He can feel the other's hand pulling away now that he's relaxed, but lithe, pale fingers grab onto Yukimura's wrist, earning him a worried glance.

"Iago? Speak to me."

He didn't even need to say the words, low and quiet to avoid drawing attention. His gaze would have been enough, blue like these Hoshidan skies, and briefly he wonders if the tactician knows magic, like he's denied so many times. Iago simply rises in response to his inquiry, a swift nod to the crown princes before he stalks away from the table. He can feel the youngers' glares on his back, and he almost finds himself glaring back.

The hall is quiet, much quieter and more to his liking. The dim of voices resonates from the door that's shut behind him, and the quiet footsteps that approach from behind. Nothing is said - Nothing needs to be said, as small hands lace with his own and tug him forth, and his feet move and work almost like one of the man's automatons.

He likes that Yukimura is not a man of many words. He himself can't usually come up with them around him (And at first, he had accused the man of a voice stealing hex), but they seemed to work in a tandem that didn't require speaking. Soon enough, they're in the mechanist's quarters, and Iago doesn't think the grand tactician of Hoshido should have such a dull room.

It's littered with parts and tools, half finished inventions and paintings strewn about tables. What seems to be blueprints are tacked to whatever wood is in the room, notes written in messy Hoshidan scrawl that he can't read. A small bed sits in the corner of the room, and he finds himself led to it, carefully pushed down by the shoulder to make him sit.

"You don't like it here," Yukimura offers, and the sorceror pauses.

He was right. He was always right, really, with a brain too wise and bright for him to go up against. Hoshido was a place of too many eyes - Too many watchers, those who held contempt for him, his actions, yet had given royals that were just as guilty warm welcome into their nation. He doesn't blend in with them, people of bright color, culture and foods, as he slinks along in his uniform from a darker time, bathed in reds, golds, and blacks.

But still, he can't imagine leaving. He thought about it before, yes, escaping like some storybook character to a place of wonder and freedom, but now that he thought about it, what was the point? What was the purpose of his fleeing, his running from the past? For what was freedom without-

Without him.

He could run until his legs gave out, until his lungs ached under the burning sun, but even if he hated this place he couldn't leave. He didn't wish to.

"I don't." He says, teeth clenched together. "But you're here."

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble challenge for myself because I love Iago, and frankly there's not enough content for him.
> 
> http://rockinrpmemes.tumblr.com/post/155152725091/prompts-1-things-you-said-at-1-am-2-things Prompts taken from this.


End file.
